


Whispers in the Dark

by ConfusedAlpaca



Category: Yogscast "High Rollers" D&D Campaign
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Probably canon complient
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-06 19:51:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14654979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConfusedAlpaca/pseuds/ConfusedAlpaca
Summary: A short story about Trell's past from the POV of a sort of friend.





	Whispers in the Dark

The day he turned thirty-five was the beginning of the end for us.

It had been many years since he had said anything to anyone regarding the whispers he heard, but it still had a lasting impact on his reputation. He was marked a social outcast, a weirdo, as was I. We were never close, but we were the only friends we could find.

We often spent time in the library. It was relatively peaceful there, and one of the few places where someone would stop attacks against us. Even if the reason for that wasn't so much concern for us but for the books. We would read about the surface world. About the sun, the stars, the alien plants and animals, and most of all about the few drow that would run away there. We spent many hours there, wondering what it would be like if we did leave for the place that was so much more tolerant towards people outside of their concept or normal. We devised countless plans on when and how we'd leave, knowing full well that we would never act on them.

We spent that day like any other. We studied, we ignored the pointed stares as best we could, and we talked about anything that wasn't serious. It wasn't until that evening, sat in a hidden alcove in the cavern wall, that he halted mid-sentence and blurted out, "I don't know how much I'll be able to see you anymore."

"Why?"

"My mother was talking to one of her friends who works at the temple, and, well. They talked about stuff and then she um...." he mumbled, "I have to go there tomorrow."

"Oh." We sat awkwardly in silence for a moment.

"Is this a job or..." I trailed off, not wanting to say the alternative. His cheeks turned a redder shade of purple.

"No no no no! It's a job. Don't worry. She thought it would be good for me to be more religious. Said that it would help me have a better place in society or some such nonsense."

I supposed it made sense to them. Working at the temple was generally considered a perfectly respectable job for a young woman. Less so for a young man, but still better than many other things he could be doing. But in the end, I supposed, it had come back around to the whispers. He had told me once, a long time ago, that his parents believed that the whispers came from Lolth. "I don't really believe them," he had said, "but I hope it's not something worse."

It was true though, he would be much less of an outcast there. He would be considered, if not equal to the others, at least better than any person who was not serving the temple. Our city sucked like that.

"I'll try to come see you sometimes, but I expect they'll keep me busy." He didn't say more but I was sure of what he was thinking. About how he would most likely make other friends there. Someone who wasn't looked down on by everyone else. He probably would forget me after just a year or two. I was worthless to everyone else, and soon would be worthless to him too.

I would miss him, I realised suddenly. The thought was strange. I had always thought that he would have left me behind at some point, though I hadn't expected it so soon. We had spoken of each other as friends, but the thought of this stung. When had I grown this attached to him, I wondered.

"Hey, Trell?" I said, largely masking my distress.

"Yeah?"

"I'm sure you're going to be better off there." Without me. I couldn't say that to him though. He'd laugh at me, say I've gone soft.

"I hope you're right."

Over the next few years, I saw him less and less. At first, he would try to regularly visit, even if only for an hour or so a week, but by the fifth year I would be lucky to see him once a month. He would occasionally come round and we would make boring small talk until he had to dash off on yet another errand. He seemed a different person then. He had gained some measure of confidence but he would barely talk to me other than to ask how I was. He wouldn't say anything about his work either, other than they were keeping him very busy.

I was lonely then. I would eagerly await his visits, the only interaction with anyone that could really stand me, but as the time passed I grew frustrated at how distant he was. I began to dread his visits. The guy I had known seemed to not be there anymore and had been replaced by someone else. It became increasingly apparent that he no longer saw me as any sort of friend, and that now I was just the weird half-breed girl.

I had been working with my mother for a long time by now. We spent the days growing and gathering rarer fungi that would be bought by alchemists to produce a variety of foul poisons. It was definitely not a good job, many fungi had annoyingly specific care requirements, some needing to be tended every hour or so. I rarely got as much sleep as I should, but the pay was decent, and a much better alternative to any of the other jobs I could find.

By the time I turned 50 I had not seen him in over 5 years. I guess that wasn't that much time for him; he would live for at least another 500 years, but I didn't have as long as he did. I was already halfway through my life and was unlikely to live up until what he would consider adulthood.

Then one day, he returned. It was the time that on the surface would be midday, the time where the least people wandered the streets of the city. I was half asleep when he knocked on the door. It took me a moment to recognise him; when I knew him he had been a child and standing before me was a very different adult. Though still young, his face seemed weary, as though he had seen something terrible. He glanced behind him anxiously, as though he expected something to dart at him from the shadows.

"Is there anyone else in there?" he whispered, motioning at the room behind me.

"No, why?"

He glanced around the room, checking for himself. "Uhh, can I come in? I won't be long." I nodded and he hurried inside, closing the door quietly behind himself. "I'm sorry if I get you into trouble for this, but I wanted to see you before I left."

I looked at him, puzzled. "Trell, why would this get me into trou- oh, oh no. Oh, Trell, what have you done?"

He grimaced. "I'll spare you the details, but it's probably enough to say I won't be able to come back again." He shuffled his feet on the floor, put his head in his hands and sighed. When he looked back up he said, "I'm sorry I haven't been to see you more. I was busy. That's not really an excuse, I know, but I am sorry. I'm sorry if this drags you into my mess." He paused, as though listening to something, and shook his head. "I'm so sorry. They're going to be here soon. I need to go. Goodbye."

He ran to the door and looked through the small window before turning back to me, and the confidence he had worn all the time I had known him crumbled. His hands trembled as he drew a sword from beneath his cloak. A sword that already had splashes of crimson on the blade. A sword he had clearly already used today. He stood behind the door, positioned to strike anyone that would come through. His long ears twitched and he pulled a strand of black hair out of his eyes. I began to back away from him.

"There has to be another way." he murmured, turning to look in my direction. I froze. My heart leapt into my throat as took a few faltering steps towards me, his sword dropping from his hand, and he fell to his knees. "She's got nothing to do with this though. Why her?"

I knelt down in front of him and held his hands. "What's happened to you Trellimar? What did you do?"

"I- I've made a choice. And now I have to live with it." He pulled his hands away, to rest them on the sword by his side.

"What choice? What could possibly be so bad?"

He looked into my eyes with tears welling. His voice was shaking. "I am so, so sorry." he whispered, and stabbed me in the chest.

**Author's Note:**

> I should probably have made this longer but I did only expect this to reach 500 words so I'm glad I managed to make it more than that. I should write more stuff this was fun. Also, I apologize for any bits that don't really make sense the person who was supposed to be proof-reading it just. never got around to it.


End file.
